


Season of Grace

by shobogan



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Christmas, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:05:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shobogan/pseuds/shobogan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara decides to have a little Christmas gathering of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season of Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly gen, but Barbara/Helena and Cass/Steph are hinted at.

__  
it's the season of grace coming out of the void  
where a man is saved by a voice in the distance  
it's the season of possible miracle cures  
where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown  
where time begins to fade  


It's just an offhand mention, as she swings through the snow. 

“Any plans for Christmas?” Oracle's voice is carefully light in her ears.

“Not really. Mom has to work.” She doesn't _want_ to – she's made sure to tell her that, over and over. But Stephanie understands. How couldn't she? “And we can't afford a tree this year.” That was no major disappointment, really; it's hardly the first time. “I figured I'd just patrol, you know? Make sure everyone else gets a nice night. Maybe save some puppies.”

It's a weak joke, and she's trying hard not to sound wistful. “How about you?”

There's a gentle drumming; Oracle rapping her fingers against her desk. “Good question. I like to spend it with my dad, but both of us are – well.” 

“Puppies.”

“Yep.” 

It's silly, shrugging alone on a rooftop, but she does anyway. For all she knows, Oracle _can_ see her. “Price we pay.” 

“Yeah.” Oracle sounds pensive, now. Stephanie can almost see her steepling her fingers.

Oh boy.

 

She can read, now; it's still an exhilarating thing, and sometimes she goes too fast, stumbling over the words and tangling them all together. That's all right; she can go back, and try again.

There are two invitations in her inbox. 

There's still a lot she doesn't understand about Christmas; a lot she doesn't particularly care about, really. But she knows it can be a time for family and friends, for giving and warmth, for love and forgiveness. 

She still remembers her very first present, and dancing for Azrael in the snow. 

Her second Christmas was spent in Barbara's house, feasting on turkey and laughter and stories. Her third - 

The smile fades.

The third was in Bludhaven, with Brenda. By evening, she was in Gotham, laying a wreath of holly on Stephanie's grave.

She only got one of them back, and maybe that's why she ran away. 

Cassandra closes her eyes, and makes a decision.

 

Barbara isn't one for parties. Never was, really; she could play the part just fine, even enjoy herself, but she'd always rather be doing something else. 

This is different. This is personal, and intimate. 

Probably not _quiet_ , though, and her lips quirk as she untangles her lights. Help should be arriving – ah.

“You really like that window, huh?” 

Helena's smirk is broad and sharp. “Funny how it's never booby-trapped.”

Barbara tilts her head towards the mess of decorations piling up around her. “Help we sort this crap out.”

Helena looks dubious, for a moment, before sliding off the sill and striding over. “Why do you need _me_ for this?”

“Convenience.” 

And Helena just nods – there's something resigned in her eyes, something bitter and worn.

“Considering I'm inviting you over for Christmas.”

Barbara really shouldn't enjoy shocking her so much.

 

Gotham is lit up tonight, has been for about a month now. He's picked one of the few dark roofs to kneel on, doing his best to keep out of sight as he waits. It's still brighter than he'd like.

Fucking Christmas. 

He never used to hate it. Not like this, anyway.

He thinks he remembers carefree holidays - vibrant decorations and delicious food and easy laughter - but they might just be in his head. The holidays kept close in his heart are the ones spent, primarily, with his mother. Long cold nights, frayed decorations, frozen food. Right up until the end, she'd save and scrounge for at least one present. Right up until the end they would huddle close, singing old carols and wishing on snowflakes.

Then she was gone. The one Christmas he spent on his own wasn't as miserable as he'd expected; he and a few other runaways got together, decorated an old warehouse, exchanged tokens. It wasn't like having a family, but he slept warmer that night.

And then there was Bruce.

His hand tightens on the ledge, numb fingers scrounging into the snow.

Christmas at Wayne Manor was an extravagant, opulent thing. It wasn't soulless, though; the main tree was decked out in family memories, and Alfred made everyone's favourite foods, and Bruce managed some smiles. 

Once, Jason even got him singing.

“Fuck this.” It's a low, frustrated mutter. He's been waiting on this drop for hours, and his fingers probably couldn't even work his guns now.

So he stands, careful not to skid – that shit's just embarrassing, for a ruthless vigilante – and leaps down, heading to one of his less crummy hideouts. 

The last thing he expected was to step into another light show. 

 

She's on her way to Oracle's house for a Christmas party, with two Batgirls and Red Hood. 

Helena huffs out a laugh, and watches it turn to mist. This is so - _ridiculous_ , and a completely horrible idea, and somehow she feels like singing. 

She hates that Barbara can do that. That the simplest gesture can lift her spirits or crush them. She's not supposed to be so _weak_. 

But here she is, bag of ingredients in her arms, whistling a tune her mother sang her. 

She knocks with her foot, and the door unlocks itself. She should ask Barbara how she rigged that up, must come in handy.

She shakes the snow from her shoes and heads on in. Barbara greets her in the kitchen, grinning and flushed; there's a fresh pan of cookies on the counter. "Hey." It takes Helena a moment to respond. She's never seen Barbara so - _casual_. Shoulders relaxed, smile light, gaze warm. She's wearing a fraying old Christmas sweater that keeps slipping off her shoulder.

“Hey. Um – counter good?” 

Barbara nods, wheeling back to give her room. “I promise I didn't ask you just for the food.”

“Yeah, all right.” The words are light, though; there's no edge of tension or doubt, not right now.

Right now, she just feels warm.

 

Jason blinks hard beneath his helmet, squinting through the barrage of messy decorations. “The fuck?”

“Hi.” His eyes focus – it's a girl, sitting atop a gigantic reef and waving cheerfully. 

His hands immediately go for his guns, and she just shakes her head.

“Wouldn't.”

“Why not?”

“One Who Is All.”

It doesn't make any _sense_ , not at first. But then all the whispers he heard under Talia's tutelage rush back to him. 

“You're – fuck, you're _Batgirl_.”

“Black Bat, now.” She's leaning back on her elbows, completely unconcerned. It's really annoying. 

“Peachy.” He lets his hand relax, and he settles back against the door before crossing his arms. “Daddy send you to check on me?”

She frowns, and it just looks – sad. Disappointed. It makes his fingers twitch. 

“No.”

“So, what, you crash all the criminals' houses for Christmas?” 

“Only – brothers.” 

Not a lot leaves him speechless. He just stares at her for a good few seconds, and then he yanks his helmet off, scowling fiercely.

“We're not family.”

He can see her better, this way. She's so damn _tiny_ , in her oversized tank top and baggy black jeans. But there's no apprehension in her eyes; she's not even nervous. 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Jason throws his hands up, rolling his eyes and incidentally flinging the helmet into the air.

She catches it with one hand, lightning fast. 

“Careful. You'll - break something.” 

“God forbid.” 

Her nod is solemn and serious. “Sacred. Or – something.” It shouldn't make his lips quirk, even for a second. She must see it, though, because she grins broadly.

Jason sighs, sliding down the door and resting his arms on his knees. She can take him, if she wants. He needs to play this right.

“Don't need to – worry. Not here to fight.”

His eyes go wide, and then he remembers. “Can't you turn off that body reading shit?”

“No.”

“Great.” 

Then she's grinning again. “You're, um. Pouting.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am – godammit.”

His head thuds back against the door. This is fucking ridiculous.

“Why are you here?”

Her expression sombers, as he looks up at her. “No one – should be alone, right now. It's...why she sent me.”

Oh. Oh, for the love of - 

“ _Barbara_?”

 

Stephanie gets the call in the library, cramming for exams. It's a short text from Barbara – _My House. Now._

Naturally, she scoops up her books as quickly as she can, dumping them in her bag and sprinting off, weary admonitions in her ears. She doesn't bother going home and getting her costume; she won't risk being too late if Barbara's in trouble. It's close enough that she can run. 

She skids to a stop at the door, scrambling with numb fingers to get her key. 

Then she's racing through the hall, into - 

“Are you _serious_?”

Barbara's grinning shamelessly, sitting at a table decked out in games and presents and snacks. 

“Merry Christmas?”

Steph pinches the bridge of her nose. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”

“Keeps you sharp.” Barbara raises a hand, looking at her watch. “You got here in - “

“Don't _even_.”

 

He's not what she expected. 

She was expecting someone hard, someone cold, someone callous in their ruthlessness. Jason is none of those things, not really. He's raw and blazing and bursting at the seams; he's like a storm breaking over the dawn.

For the first time, she understands the comparisons to Stephanie.

“The fuck are you looking at me like that?”

She smiles again, and shakes her head. “Just – thinking.”

“Right.” His scowl is petulant. It makes her smile widen.

“Need to – finish decorating. Then we leave.”

“Says who?”

“Older sister.”

Jason groans, letting his head thud back against the door again. He probably thinks she doesn't catch the wince. “Can we stop with that crap? The fuck do you want to be my sister for, anyway?”

The words are cool and sharp, but she sees underneath. He doesn't think he is someone to be loved, or cherished. Not any more. 

So she falls silent, for a moment. Considers her words; she knows, now, how important they can be.

“Family – isn't everything.” It's not about blood or ink. “Family is...understanding. Helping. Loving.” She stalls his retort with a lifted hand. “You're not – a bad person.”

He's staring again, wary and uncertain. 

“You think – what you do is best. That it's...the only way – to make things better.” Cass shakes her head. “Don't agree. But I - _understand_.”

“How?” There's something desperate in the way he asks, something no one else would see.

Her gaze drops to the helmet in her lap. Her reflection is distorted crimson, like an imprint of blood. “Killed my mother.”

“...Shiva.” 

Cass nods, without looking up. “She asked. Knew she'd – keep killing, if I didn't. Made a decision.” 

She hears him slump against the door. “Shit.” 

Finally, she meets his gaze. “Barbara – has killed.” The words are heavy in her mouth. “Huntress, too. Batgirl – has wanted to.” A slight shrug. “They know – you aren't evil. Know you're – still family.”

He's pulled his legs into himself, arms clasped tight around them. She never thought he could look so small. “I don't even _know_ Batgirl. Or Huntress.”

“So...change that.”

She sets the helmet down, and then crawls over to offer her hand.

After a few long moments, he takes it.

 

She's only met Helena once; then, the woman was a force of nature, ferocious and brutal. Now, she's lounging on Barbara's couch, tongue peaking out as she tries to decipher Stephanie's scribbles.

“Is this a lobster?”

“It's an angel!”

“Stephanie!” Barbara's voice is sharp, and there's laughter in her eyes. Steph's smile is sheepish as she shrugs. 

“Oops.”

She's saved by a knock on the door. Her brow furrows as she looks; Barbara hadn't said anyone else was coming.

“Be right back.” Barbara wheels out into the hall, and Stephanie can hear muffled greetings. 

The first one to come back isn't Barbara, though, it's - 

“Cass!” It's a delighted squeal as she leaps off her chair and into Cassandra's arms. Then she's being spun around, laughing until her chest aches and her cheeks feel wet.

 

Her lips quirk as she hears Steph's delight. Meanwhile, Jason's eyebrow arches. (Alfred taught him that, she's pretty sure.)

“Guess they're close.” 

“Yeah.”

He's holding himself so tight, like he might fall to pieces if he's not careful. He's nervous and wary; he doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust her.

She needs to change that.

“I missed you.” The words are soft, and his scoff is scornful.

“Sure hasn't felt that way.” 

“I know.” She takes a breath. “And I'm sorry.”

He looks sceptical, but that's all right. She has time to change his mind; she's accepted that he's real, that he's not going to vanish beneath her fingertips. That he may not be her little bird any more, with his playful smirk and dorky jokes, but he's still _Jason_.

She doesn't need to think of him as Red Hood. Not for tonight.

Barbara holds out her hand. “Let me introduce you.”

He frowns. He hesitates. He considers just leaving, she can see it.

But in the end, he takes her hand.

__  
it's the season of scars and of wounds in the heart  
of feeling the full weight of our burdens  
it's the season of bowing our heads in the wind  
and knowing we are not alone in fear  
not alone in the dark  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Batfam Christmas Exchange! Title and quotes are from Vienna Teng's _Atheist Christmas Carol_.


End file.
